


Quicksilver

by ladyjax



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: choc_fic, F/M, Female Character of Color, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-10
Updated: 2007-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyjax/pseuds/ladyjax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not about winning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksilver

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: #9 - knives and knife-play - "Come to the edge." "We can't. We're afraid." "Come to the edge." "We can't. We will fall!" "Come to the edge." And they came. And he pushed them. And they flew."

Dawn was just breaking across the horizon when he found her. This training room was smaller than the ones that were generally used, more intimate. It was obvious from the pillows, candles and incense burners that Teyla had come to this room long enough to make it her own.

The door opened with a whisper and John stepped through, his eyes riveted on the woman who knelt in the middle of the room

"You are late."

"Problems with one of the field teams," John said. He toed off his shoes and padded barefoot across the floor until he came in front of her. John knelt and rested his weight lightly on his heels, unsheathing the knife at his belt and placing it in parallel to her own.

Teyla's lips twitched a little before she schooled her expression into its customary serenity. Her hands rested on her thighs, relaxed, waiting. It would be so easy to be taken in by he seemingly placid countenance but after months of practice (as well as one or two well earned cuts across the back of his hand), John finally felt it. A stillness stretching between them, taut like a bowstring.

He'd never be sure who moved first. John whipped his arm down to block Teyla's swipe toward his midsection. He rolled back out of the way, scooping up his knife and coming to his feet at the ready. Teyla was up in a crouch, watching him.

"You've been practicing," she purred as she slowly straightened, balancing on the balls of her feet. "Ronon."

"Mmm, and Lorne too," John replied, switching the knife from hand to hand. "They think I can take you." Teyla snorted derisively.

"I will make sure to thank them for their able assistance in training you."

They circled each other before diving in with a flurry of feints and parries, knives cutting a hairsbreadth from skin and muscle. John found a skill in steel that he never found with the bantos rods, something that Teyla was only too pleased to cultivate. "You depend on your guns too much," she had said more than once. "Sometimes all you will have is your wits and your knife."

She never told him that he'd eventually feel as though the knife was an extension of himself. That he would be honed until he was a sharp, bright edge.

They spun, danced, sweat licked skin gleaming in the light of the rising sun.

The opening came so quickly John nearly missed it. Teyla leaned one way, overbalanced for the briefest of moments and he exploited it, dropping his knife to grab both of her wrists in his hands before hooking his foot around her ankle and yanking it forward. Teyla's look of surprise was well worth the fall to the floor.

She landed hard on her back with a little "oof," her knife spinning away. John followed her down, pinning her with his weight to the floor.

He looked down at her. "Yield," he growled.

Teyla tested his grip and nodded. "I yield," she said. "Although, husband, your victory is only an aberration."

John smiled. "I promise I won't rub this in," he replied and leaned in for a kiss.


End file.
